


Walking alone at night

by MeatballSander



Series: Welcome to Gallow's Creek [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Autumn, Birthday, First Meetings, Gen, Hair, Haircuts, I'm Bad At Tagging, Late Night Conversations, Late at Night, Missing Scene, Original Fiction, Short One Shot, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25920967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeatballSander/pseuds/MeatballSander
Summary: Dee has a crappy birthday, but makes an unexpected friend in the process.
Relationships: Original Female Character(s) & Original Male Character(s)
Series: Welcome to Gallow's Creek [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650853





	Walking alone at night

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a story with this premise off the top of my head for an English exam a few years ago, and only just got around to rewriting it. Tried to keep at as faithful as possible to the original scribbled draft. :)

Dee walked. She wasn't sure where she was going but she sure as hell was making her way there in confident strides. She walked with purpose, even if she herself was not sure of what that purpose was.

The night sky above was void of starlight, an ultrablack vacuum sucking in and eliminating any light. The only source of light came from the street lamps, illuminated in an orange glow so faint that when she walked beneath it it didn't even cast a shadow. The air was crisp, bitingly so, blowing ever so slightly in the breeze as if taunting that it could get more powerful.

Whatever. Dee would not be provoked. She just shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of that horrifically chartreuse faux-fur coat. It was long, all the way down to her ankles, and covered her neck like a mane. But despite its tacky appearance it was beloved to her, especially on a night like tonight. Underneath it she wore foolishly little: the black shirt she wore was sleeveless, and she wore leggings instead of proper pants. Her legs quaked in the cold so badly that it was a wonder she didn't buckle, her brown heeled boots causing her to tumble onto the scathing sidewalk. The leaves crinkled under those boots, a dry sound not unlike firewood popping. Though she may be cold the sound reminded her that at least she was not wet. If she sat on a bench or wall, at least her butt wouldn't get soaked. Cold, but not damp.

She was alone. She had walked from her home in the suburbs to the centre of town and hadn't passed a single person. Even now as she walked through the most urban sections of the town, through the park where the dog walkers and restless children always frequented, there was no sign of anyone. 

She sighed to herself, a frustration in it. She should be home with her mother right now, blowing out her candles and opening her presents. But of course the family work got in the way. Swathes of people (all of them working under her grandmother in one way or another) poured into the house, their mouths racing as they announced their presence. Dee didn't care about why they were there. It was her sixteenth birthday, and she wanted to spend it quietly, not in a cramped room full of strangers. In the end, she kicked herself out of the house and set off into the night.

Snap. A branch - a twig, really - snapped, and Dee knew it wasn't under her feet. Someone else was nearby.

It wasn't really something to be concerned about; she had just been wondering why nobody else was around, after all. But the sudden knowledge that someone was close nearby troubled her a little. She picked up her pace. The steps behind her matched it. She turned corners but the other pair of footsteps followed, growing closer.

No no no, she couldn't run from this. Who the hell did they think she was? She was Desirée Vasquez, 16 year old heir to the Vasquez Crime Syndicate. Even at school, she was popular because (despite her abhorrent taste in clothing) she commanded nothing but respect. And fear. Sometimes mostly fear. The point was, Dee never ran from anything because she should be the one giving the opposition a reason to hightail it.

Besides, she wasn't human. Her race was venomous and deadly: the toxins she produced were corrosive enough to melt through anything; a drop of her blood could take down an elephant. If the person behind her got too close all she'd have to do was spit in their face.

Gripping her fists deeply in her pockets, the nails threatening to break the skin of her palms, she spun on her heels and faced her stalker. Her face contorted, her orchid eyes glaring bullets, and opened her mouth to shout.

"What the hell are you..." The exclamation faded word by word.

The man standing behind her, perhaps just a little too closely, was ragged. Not rugged: he looked like a softie, his skin, hair, and clothes all unassuming shades of beige. Ragged. His tattered overcoat hung from his spindly form as if he were himself a coat stand, the gap between his arm and the bottom of the cloth of the sleeve visible from even the front. 

He stared back at her, eyes wide, brandishing a wide smile and a rusty pair of scissors.

She went to speak, but stopped herself. She would not knock down her own walls by spouting unconfident filler words - ums and uhs and the like. Furrowing her brow, she held his gaze, keeping the possibilities behind those blades he carried in a neat corner of her mind.

"What are you doing?" Dee settled for a growl, but she did not bark. She wanted answers before anything else. Nobody would shadow her of all people and get away without explaining themselves.

"I'm following you." 

His response was plain and flat; carried by a tired yet almost childlike voice. He was ever so slightly shorter than her, but clearly years older. Dee couldn't help but notice he wasn't blinking. 

"...At least you're honest." She remarked, not entirely sure how to proceed with the situation. Nonetheless she let out a small smirk - showing she was comfortable would hopefully lower his guard. 

Voice sharp, she reached further to re-establish her superiority: "What do you want?"

"You look lonely." 

Dee felt her spine stiffen, her stance becoming more awkward than she'd like. Given the events of the night thus far he wasn't... Wrong. Yet even so, what was it to him? It wasn't any of his damn business!

She forced a scoff that sounded believable enough. "And if I were? What does that matter to you?"

For once, the man averted his gaze, looking down at his scissors. He opened and closed them, blinking in time with the sheathing sound they made. Clumsily he mumbled something, however it was clear his mind was thousands of miles away.

"Speak up." She was fearful of whatever it was he knew and she didn't. "You're answering me, aren't you?"

His eyes snapped back to her. His angular neck lolled a little, like the twisting of a branch of a baby's mobile. It creeped her out.

"I was wondering if I could cut your hair." He stated plainly, grinning.

"What." Though intended to be a question, the request caught her off guard and the most she could offer was a statement.

"You look like you have a lot of... Baggage."

"Thanks."

"No, no, don't take offense! I just think, if the day hasn't been kind to you, you might feel better if you cut off the memories associated with it."

"What the hell are you on about?" She took a step back, and clutched her hair absentmindedly. "You're not touching my fucking hair."

"Maybe I worded it wrong." The man looked genuinely upset, like a scolded puppy. "You're lonely, right?"

"Stop talking to me."

"But you are? You miss your friends? Maybe your family? And sure, you may see them again soon, but the future is never certain - I'm sure you're familiar with that."

"Where the hell is this coming from?" She spat. He was hitting entirely too close to home, and she didn't like it. "Have you been stalking me?"

"Huh? No, I have no idea who you are. I'm just going off a hunch." 

He shrugged, shooting back a disarming but obviously genuine response, like there wasn't anything remotely peculiar about what he was saying: "But my hunch is telling me that right now you might be happier with shorter hair. Something cut you off from your comfort zone recently; something you wanted. In turn, cutting off what you associate with the past and your relationships with it might make you more confident moving forward independently."

Dee paused, then scowled. "I don't want to cut off any of my current relationships."

"If they're worth keeping, you can always make new memories as your hair regrows." He shrugged again, but it was a more reaffirming one. She hated to admit it but what he was saying wasn't all trash, nor did he really scare her any more.

She went for another retort, but stopped herself. What did she have to lose? Best case scenario, she gets a free haircut (and with hair as thick as hers, that was definitely a blessing). Worst case scenario, what? He goes to stab her in the neck? She had complete confidence she could overpower the string bean, and the hospital wasn't too far if she really needed medical attention. What better a birthday gift for herself than a new haircut?

"Alright." She let herself relax. "You can cut my hair."

He beamed brighter than the sun.

*

"I don't even know your name." Dee mentioned, head tilted down. They sat on one of the frostbitten picnic benches: Dee on the seat, the man on the tabletop.

"Does it matter?" He countered, and the first lock of violet hair fluttered to the ground. There was no backing out now.

"What if I want to recommend you to a friend?" She mused. "Or if I need to track down the guy who gave me a horrific haircut?"

She sneaked a glance to her side, but all that she could see of him was below the knee. Bizarrely, he wasn't wearing any shoes - just socks, made of a similar material to jute. 

"Horse."

"Your name is _Horse_?"

"That it is." She could hear the smile in his voice, carrying an infectious sense of pride.

There was a pause before her reply: "Don't you wanna know my name?"

"Nah, don't really care." A large chunk of hair slapped a small slick of ice that was forming on the ground. "If the world wants me to see you again, it'll lead me to you."

"Like it did tonight?"

"Just like it did tonight."

"Huh." She shifted, trying her best not to move her head. "So, does the world often lead you to random people so you can cut their hair?"

"Not as often as it should, frankly. Most the time people say no anyway."

"I don't blame them."

"You don't?"

"Of course not. You scared the crap out of me."

"I did?"

"Duh. Have you tried not following teenage girls at night?"

There was a silence. "I suppose that I could come off as a little creepy."

"Understatement of the century." Dee let out a small chuckle. "Why don't you just work at the hairdresser's? There's only like three stylists there; I'm sure they're hiring."

"Oh," he shot her down fast, "I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"That's not what I'm meant to do."

"But sitting on a park bench cutting some random bitch's hair in the height of November is?"

"As far as I'm concerned? Yes."

Dee smiled to herself, sitting in silence and the remaining locks fell to the ground like helicopter seeds. Maybe random, probably homeless guys brandishing blades weren't all bad.

**Author's Note:**

> If there're any glaring spelling/grammatical errors, don't be afraid to drop a comment!


End file.
